Enjoying some al fresco dining across town, Haddie quizzes Julia on how she realized she wanted to be a lawyer. "I was in a civil rights class when I was at Stanford," she says. "Go, Cardinal, by the way. Put that in your report -- it'll drive your Cal dad nuts." Haddie says OMG, she will, and with extra eye-rolling. "I'm secretly a Stanford girl," she adds, and somewhere her dad must have felt a pang in his heart, for sure. Young lady, we do not hate on the alma maters of our parents. That is so wrong. Anyway, Julia says she was sitting in this civil rights class and got all inspired by the way that citizens are protected equally under the law. "Aunt Julia," Haddie says, so impressed. "I had no idea that you did that kind of law." Julia clears her throat of the twenty dollar salad she's eating. "No, I don't, actually," she corrects. She explains that the law she really does is mergers and acquisitions. Haddie takes copious notes. "It's the buying, selling and combining of companies," Julia explains. "At the end of the day, we can provide the acquired company with a buyout package." Haddie asks if that ends up being a lot of money. "Not if I did my job right," Julia smirks, and then catches herself as she sees a fleeting moment of "less impressed" pass across Haddie's face. "Wait, don't put that in there," she hurriedly insists. "It's more complicated than I just explained." Haddie nods: "[More complicated] than screwing some poor slob out of his retirement?" she asks. Julia is shocked. "What?!" she asks. Haddie: "Pretty Woman! I was quoting Julia Roberts!" She tells Julia not to worry -- she knows that's not what her job is really like. Julia goes slightly pale behind her mask of professional perfection because... um, yes, it is.
Back at the House of Endless Boobs, Crosby takes a cell call from Adam, who is at work. He needs to cancel their weekly basketball game, he says, and get a restaurant recommendation for a hip place to take two shoe retailers in town. Someone has to show them a good time, Adam groans, and he drew the short straw. Crosby says that, first of all, since this is like, the eighth time Adam has cancelled, they can stop referring to it as a "weekly" game. Secondly, he recommends a place called Casa Via to take the out-of-towners. "You'll love it," Crosby says. "Well, they'll love it, and you'll tolerate it." Cut to the restaurant in question and Adam is barely even tolerating it. I don't blame him, really, seeing as it is a red-lit, loud and crowded bar. The hostess gives him the obliging wink, knowing he is Crosby's brother. As she shows the salesmen types to a table, Adam gets a call from Kristina. "Hey, honey," she purrs, cruising around the house wearing a shortie nightgown and carrying a glass of wine. "Can you get out of your dinner?" She says there's a three-hour bug movie playing in town and Haddie took Max. "So," she says, nudgingly. "You know what that means..." Ooh, la la! Adam says he'll be there as soon as he's able and tells her to cue up the Van Morrison. "Oh, and hey, Adam," Kristina adds. "Kitten's on the grill..." HAA! I have searched in vain as to where that might have come from and found nothing. I sincerely hoped it was a Cat on a Hot Tin Roof reference, somehow. Except I can't figure out how it could be, and I suppose I must accept that it is merely an hilarious euphemism for uh, overheated ladyparts. Whatever the source, it fires Adam up, indeed. He huskily tells her he'll be home soon, and goes to sit with his salesmen. Later, as these losers order yet another round, he gets another call from his grilled kitten. It's bad news: Max had a meltdown at the movies and the kids are home. So, this time Kristina -- cold cream now applied -- is calling to tell him to pick up some corn flakes. Apparently she bought the kind with strawberries by mistake and Max refuses to eat them, saying the berries look like toes. I am with Max on that one, man. I mean, I don't know if they look like toes, but freeze-dried fruit is for astronauts. Also, just the word-association I have now with "toes" is going to put me off cereal, possibly for life. Adam is completing this call when the waitress arrives with his virgin daiquiri. Disgruntled, he takes it, but not before he looks across the bar and spies none other than Gaby, going full-on Coyote Ugly on the bar with a group of her friends. He makes a face like he's disgusted and returns to his sales goons.
The next morning, Adam staggers into the kitchen to give Kristina a full report. "Honey, how many margaritas did you have?" she asks, seeing him stumble around in his underwear and bedhead. "Just two," he groans. We must now pause for me to tell the legendary story of My Husband, Chris, and the White Lightening. The man is, frankly, a champion booze-holder. I mean, why marry him, otherwise? We had some times, pre-child, that would go down in history if we could only clearly remember them. But this one night, my friend James and I challenged Chris and James's wife to a game of Rook. Let me cut to the chase: we were all drunk; James and I were the only ones who knew how to play Rook; James's daddy is a butcher in rural North Carolina and occasionally takes payment from his longtime clients in the form of livestock and/or home-brewed corn liquor. James had a mason jar (what else?) full of the latter, and AGAINST ALL SPOUSAL ADVICE, my husband -- who is from New Jersey, first of all, and secondly had already had enough other forms of alcohol to drink by this point that he drunk-dialed MY MOM during the Rook game to get tips on how to win -- thought he might try a sip. It only takes a sip, people, please remember that. That sip lead us to Waffle House at some unchristian hour the next day for the hangover cure. But, get this, brother was TOO hung over to save himself. The man was eating hashbrowns one hash at a time. I have honestly never seen anything like it before or since and I tell the story now to serve as a warning to you all.
ANYWAY. Adam is fumbling around in the fridge while Kristina rushes Max through his breakfast, reminding him that Gaby will be there any minute. When Max runs out to go to his room, Adam sarcastically drops the news that Gaby will probably be calling in sick today. "I saw her at the bar last night," he says. "And if two margaritas did this to me, I can only imagine what 10 shots of tequila did to her." Kristina is amazed. "Sticker-system Gaby was shooting tequila last night?" she asks. Adam says yeah, it was like a Girls Gone Wild video. He says he can't believe Gaby can spend all day with kids like Max and then just go out and leave it all behind. This opens the door for the obvious joke to be made about "that's why she drinks tequila" or something, but instead Kristina asks if Adam thinks Gaby leaves there and goes home and worries about Max all night, or something. "That's what I do," Adam shoots back, and... again, that could not have been written by a writer. I mean, right? Because WHY would Adam think this person they're paying would have the same level of anxiety as he does about his son?
The doorbell rings and Adam rushes to get a